


Myosotis

by BladedFeather



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 20:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19070569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BladedFeather/pseuds/BladedFeather
Summary: Baby blue petals are spread around him like confetti.Some of them are stained red with blood.Something like dread settles in the pit of his stomach





	Myosotis

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm back!  
> I graduated college and everything is crazy.  
> I've been fandom hopping, and have returned with something interesting I wanted to give a shot.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Avengers movie nights were always some sort of disaster.

Bucky is still furious over the magnet incident, the plates on his arm hadn’t set right for weeks. 

He has to concede that they do have some upsides though. 

The room is dark, though it doesn’t feel suffocating. 

Steve is slumped by his right side, mouth open and head on the back of the couch, already asleep after the sci-fi flick playing on screen had lost his attention. 

Natasha has her toes dug under his thigh on his left, her head pillowed on Clint’s lap while she plays on her phone, not even pretending to pay attention to the movie.

The other Avengers are scattered throughout the room, for once blessedly silent. 

Movie nights are one of the few times outside of missions that they are all in one room, and it fills Bucky with a bone-deep sense of satisfaction. 

Growing up his house had constantly been full, and ever since Hydra he’d had trouble being in crowded spaces without feeling panicky. 

With these people, in this place, though? He feels content in a way he doesn’t usually. 

Bucky’s smiling to himself when Steve shifts. He makes a soft little sound and turns until his head is resting on Bucky’s shoulder. 

The smile on Bucky’s face gets decidedly sappier. 

The movie drones on, and Bucky watches through half-lidded eyes.

Of course, nothing lasts forever. 

Bucky doesn’t jump when Tony groans loudly at the end of the movie, apparently furious with the ‘so called science’ the narrator was spouting.

While Bucky isn’t affected, Steve startles badly, and all but throws himself in the opposite direction of the noise. 

Away from Bucky. 

After a moment of sleepy confusion, Steve looks at him apologetically, “Sorry Buck, didn’t mean to drool on you.” He stands up, smiling  
sheepishly, and leaves with a wave. 

Bucky watches him go, words stuck in his throat. 

Natasha stretches like a cat, pushing her feet further under his thigh.

When he glances over there’s a dangerous look in her eyes.

He glares at her. 

Unfortunately, Natasha has never been afraid of him, and simply continues to look at him, entirely unaffected, “You ever going to do anything about that, Barnes?” 

Bucky stiffens, eyes narrowing, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Natalia.”

She rolls her eyes, but Bucky’s walking quickly (not running!) out of the room before she can say anything else. 

*

He does though, know what she’s talking about. 

Bucky’s loved Steve Rogers for what feels like his entire life. 

It had bloomed into the all encompassing sort of breathless love somewhere in their teens. 

But Bucky had had tons of justifications for why it wouldn’t work. 

He couldn’t have lived with himself if people had gotten wise and Steve had paid the price for it. 

Eventually, it became a non-option for him. Unless Steve ever said anything, he was fine the way he was. 

Then he’d fallen off a train. 

Now, it’s harder for him to justify 

He finds himself actually thinking about it. 

About telling Steve. 

Something he’d never let himself do before. 

It’s dangerous territory. 

*

Bucky’s reading in the late afternoon sun when someone knocks frantically on his door. 

Despite this, he can’t be bothered to get up, “Jarvis, let them in.”

The knocking stops abruptly. 

Bucky looks up from his book to find Steve wringing his hands. 

Steve, and his ridiculous shoulders, are crammed into a smart wine colored button down. He’s in a nice pair of jeans, and expensive looking shoes.

The nervous twitching continues as Steve speaks, “Sorry for barging in, but I’m going to be late. Do I look okay?” 

Bucky’s throat has dried up completely. 

The silence drags on long enough that Steve’s face falls and he starts talking about changing. 

Which is enough to snap Bucky back into the present, “Yeah pal, you look good.” Is all he manages to rasp out. 

Steve lights up, “Thanks Buck,” he say sincerely. There’s a moment where he looks like he wants to say more, but smiles ruefully instead. 

Bucky watches as he goes to leave the room, pausing with a hand on the handle to look back hopefully, “Hey I was thinking of going to that orchard past the park Wednesday, want to come?”

Bucky nods, transfixed. 

He gets another radiant smile, and then Steve’s gone. 

Bucky feels weirdly out of sorts, and can’t get back into his book after Steve’s sudden entrance and exit. 

The sudden dissatisfaction forces him into movement, and eventually he finds himself on the tower’s common floor.

Bruce and Thor are sitting in the kitchen, talking quietly about something sciencey Bucky probably wouldn’t understand.

He avoids the headache of trying to understand them and chooses to sit in an armchair with a great view of the sprawling communal space.

Bucky stares out of the windows, a sense of ennui replacing the itch under his skin.

It almost feels like a physical ache, and he presses a palm to his chest, frowning.

“He’s on a date.” Comes a voice from somewhere above him. 

Bucky flinches, looking up in annoyance, “What are you talking about Barton? Also, why are you in the rafters?”

Clint rolls his eyes from where he’s balanced precariously on the artfully exposed rafters, unbothered by the height, “Steve, he’s on a date. You get all pouty and moody when you don’t know where he is.” 

The offense at being called ‘moody’ is immediate, but before Bucky can tell Clint to _fuck off_ , he starts coughing. 

“Did you swallow a bug? Oh my god,” Clint gasps, as Bucky’s coughing peters out, “What if you just swallowed Ant-Man? Would he _die_? Hold on, I have to ask Nat about this.” Without waiting for a response Clint maneuvers across the rafters to an air vent on the far side of the room, swinging himself into it with an absurd amount of grace for someone who broke their hand walking into a door six months ago. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, waving off Bruce and Thor’s concerned looks from across the room. 

It hurts, in more ways than he’s willing to admit, that Steve went on a date without telling him about it. 

That _Clint_ knew about it when he didn’t. 

There’s something else too, burning right under the surface, but he won’t name it. 

Won’t face it. 

Before Clint can come back and rope him into something ridiculous involving miniature superheroes, he slinks back to his floor. 

*

Later that night, Jarvis tells him Steve is outside of his door. 

A part of Bucky wants to bury himself in blankets, pretend that he’s asleep, and sulk.

Unfortunately though, he’s never been able to say no to Steve. 

He waits in his kitchen, leaning casually on the island. 

Steve comes in looking exhausted, his nice shirt untucked. 

Bucky raises his eyebrows, “You okay?” 

Steve sighs, sitting down in the chair next to him. He rakes a hand through his blond hair, messing up the styling. 

Bucky watches mutely, resisting the urge to reach out and touch. 

Steve heaves another dramatic sigh, and looks up at him through his damn lashes, “I went on a date and it...was nice I guess.” 

Bucky just looks at him. 

Steve rolls his eyes, “Okay, I hated it.” He huffs, “She was nice, don’t get me wrong. I just....she didn’t see me you know? It was like she was looking at me but not _me_ me.” Bucky nods sympathetically. 

Apparently, Steve’s on a roll, because he throws up his hands, exasperated, “I just don’t know Buck. I know Pepper is just trying to help, but I don’t see this whole dating thing working out. I don’t think I’ll find anyone with many shared experiences.” 

Silence stretches for a moment as they look at each other. 

Unfortunately, Steve seems to take this as disappointment, and looks away, fidgeting with his shirt sleeve. 

“I guess I should keep trying.” He doesn’t sound thrilled, “It makes Pepper happy, to see me try at least.”

Bucky forces a smile on his face, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder, “Guess it can’t hurt, right?”

Steve nods, seemingly resigned, “Yeah, I guess so,” He stands with a soft smile.

Bucky has to look up at him, feels something dangerous curl in his chest as he does. 

Steve grins down at him, apparently oblivious to Bucky’s inner turmoil, “Want to grab the blankets and try to catch up on The List?” 

The moment breaks as Bucky forces himself further into the kitchen, “Of course.”

The feeling in his chest morphs into a familiar ache, and he uses making popcorn as an excuse to ignore it. 

*

He wakes up the next morning with his head pillowed on Steve’s thigh. 

There’s a hand still in his hair. 

They’d drifted off during the credits of a Monty Python movie. 

Bucky means to lay there until he dies, but he’s suddenly coughing too hard to breathe. 

It doesn’t last long, but it wakes up Steve almost immediately. 

Bucky’s sitting up, curled in on himself, one of Steve’s big hands on his back rubbing soothing circles. 

“Buck, you okay?” The concern is dripping off of Steve, and Bucky nods quickly, shifting to smile winningly at the other man,  
“Yeah, m’fine. Dust in the air or something.” 

Steve doesn’t look convinced, but drops it at the look Bucky gives him. 

He gets up to make breakfast, leaving Bucky on the couch. 

Tentatively, Bucky takes a deep breath.

The tightness coupled with the hint of a rattle that he gets sends a wave of fear crashing through him. 

Bucky can hear Steve humming along to something they’d heard on the radio yesterday, and quickly composes himself.

Whatever it was, the serum would take care of it. 

*

It doesn’t go away, is the problem. 

Bucky’s lungs continue to act up, serum be damned. 

It happens in Tony’s workshop after Steve comes by to check on him. 

It happens during training, when Steve pins him for the third time and grins triumphantly. 

It happens in his fucking living room, on a sunny Thursday. 

It happens enough in Natasha’s presence that she’s staring daggers at him, blocking the exit to the communal floor defiantly. 

“ _Barnes_ ,” She hisses, venom in one word. 

“ _Romanov_ ,” He counters. 

The few other Avengers in the room are watching the scene with interest.

Bruce is the one to come over, hovering but not touching. “James,” he starts softly, “Are you alright?” 

Bucky shrugs. 

Bruce’s mouth is turned down at the corners, “Have you been feeling sick lately? I think we should go run some tests, make sure it isn’t the serum degrading or a fail-safe kicking in, we have no ide-” 

Bucky cuts him off with a grunt, “It’s fine, doc. I don’t need to be prodded just because of a little cough.”

Bruce doesn’t want to budge, “James, the serum is supposed to prevent normal biological attacks, if something is affecting you then that means it could be something _serious_.”

Bucky shrugs, aiming for unimpressed. 

“Look, I appreciate the concern, but my version of the serum isn’t perfect. When the Nazis strapped me to a table and pumped this shit into me to make me their killing machine, I don’t think they were too concerned with making sure I wouldn’t get the sniffles. It’s nothing.” The room is deathly silent, Bruce looks a little ashen. 

Natasha snorts, “Way to be an asshole,” She leaves the doorway to stalk up to him and poke him in the chest, “If it doesn’t go away by next month, you _will_ get it looked at.”

Bucky wants to say, ‘and what if I don’t?’ but her eyes flash dangerously, something protective and vulnerable lurking under the surface. 

Instead he just sighs, put upon, and leaves before Steve can walk in on this and worry himself to death. 

*

For the next two weeks, Bucky ignores the bouts of coughing when they come, and goes to great lengths to hide them from his teammates.

It works for the most part.

And then he decides to get a drink with Sam. 

They go to a local hole in the wall joint, sliding into bar stools that are just a touch wobbly. 

Bucky’s having a good time, for the most part. 

It’s a little easier to ignore the constant sense of awareness that follows him everywhere with Sam by his side. 

The guy radiates so much calm confidence it’s a little ridiculous sometimes. 

Mostly though, it just makes Bucky feel like he fits in his own skin. 

He’s laughing at a dumb joke Sam made when he hears a familiar voice across the room.

There, tucked into a corner booth, is Steve. 

He looks comfortable, leather jacket hugging his shoulders. 

Ridiculous baseball cap doing nothing to hide his features. 

Bucky’s about to call him over, thrilled to see him as always, when the air freezes in his lungs. 

There’s someone sitting across from him. 

From his angle, Bucky can make out tan skin, broad shoulders, brown hair. 

Bucky’s mind spins like a top as he watches as the guy sitting across from Steve reaches out, brushing Steve’s hand casually but deliberately as he hands over his drink for Steve to try. 

It becomes suddenly, incandescently clear, that Steve is on a date. 

Steve is on a date with another guy. 

Bucky doesn’t realize he’s standing until he’s already out of the door, ignoring the sound of Sam calling his name. 

He makes it nearly two miles before he stumbles to a stop, having lost Sam awhile ago. 

The urge to get off the street is unbearable, and he lurches into the first alley he sees. 

The coughing starts suddenly, bringing him to his knees. 

It feels never ending, almost like drowning. 

The second he can breathe it’s stolen away by another violent cough. 

Eventually, it ends. 

Bucky opens his eyes, vision watery, and looks down at the ground.

Baby blue petals are spread around him like confetti. 

Some of them are stained red with blood. 

Looking around the dingy alleyway, he searches for an explanation. 

An abandoned bouquet, a garden on the fire escapes above. 

Anything. 

He finds nothing, and reaches down with shaking fingers to touch the smooth petals. 

Something like dread settles in the pit of his stomach, and Bucky gets up. 

He walks home with his hands in his pockets, fingers cradling soft blue petals. 

*  
When Bucky gets back to his floor, he tells Jarvis to not let anyone in unless it’s an emergency, and lays the petals out on the counter. 

They look innocuous on the marble. 

Simple blue petals, a tinge of yellow at their base. 

Bucky knows they’re a death sentence. 

He’d seen a guy die of it in the war. 

Coughing up flower petals until he’d choked on them.

Bucky leaves them in the kitchen, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. 

It takes him awhile to gather the courage, but eventually, he manages. 

“Jarvis,” He starts softly, “What does it mean when someone coughs up flower petals?” 

The AI is silent for a moment, “The condition that has symptoms including coughing up partial or whole flowers is known as Hanahaki Disease.”

Bucky sits back, momentarily stunned. 

“How often does it happen?” 

“Cases of Hanahaki Disease are exceedingly rare.” 

Bucky stares up at the ceiling, heart sinking, “What causes it?”

“Intense unrequited love. Modern science has yet to pin down a biological cause, and Sir insists that I not speculate on ‘magic’ unless it is imperative.”

Despite the situation, Bucky finds it in himself to roll his eyes at Tony. 

“Alright,” Bucky steels himself, “What’s the prognosis? Is it treatable?”

“Case studies have found that Hanahaki Disease progresses differently for each patient. Generally though, patients produce individual petals first, as the disease progresses the petals increase in volume, eventually becoming full flowers as the plant takes root.”

Jarvis pauses, as if reluctant to continue, “Once the plant has ‘rooted’ the patient will usually die within twenty four hours unless treated.”

Bucky perks up, “Are there a lot of treatment options?”

Again, there is a pause. 

“There are two. The first consists of the patient having their feelings returned by the object of their affection. The second is a surgery to remove the ‘root’ of the disease. Doctors have recently discovered that removing a small section of the disease that grows on the outside of a patient's lungs results in the disease clearing up entirely.”

Bucky grins, “So the 21st century _is_ good for something,” he jokes.

The silence that follows his words is heavy. 

Bucky’s grin melts away, “Jarvis, what’s the catch?”

“The ‘catch’ is that all seven of the patients who have opted for the surgery reported a complete lack of emotional attachment to the cause of their illness after the procedure.” 

There’s blood in Bucky’s mouth from biting his cheek. 

“So,” He starts. “Tell them, die, or get a surgery that rips out any feelings you ever had for them. I don’t suppose you can ever get those feelings back, can you?”

Jarvis soft, “No,” sounds apologetic. 

“Fucking _magic_ ,” Bucky sighs, running a hand down his face. 

He sinks back into his couch, something like resignation settling in.

“Guess that means I’m screwed, huh Jarvis?”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Barnes.” The AI sounds truly mournful. 

“Yeah, fuck me.”

Of all the things to finally take him out, it’s gonna be his own feelings. 

*

Despite knowing the outcome, Bucky decides the best course of action is to continue to ignore it. 

Hiding it becomes even more difficult with the petals, but he manages. 

Sam tries to corner him, ask him what the bar was all about, but he weasels his way out of it. Citing crowds and the need to clear his head. 

He doesn't seem convinced, but doesn't press.

A week passes, and it slowly gets worse. 

It sneaks up on Bucky, just how bad it gets. 

They’re finishing up a mission, staying to clean up what they can. 

It had been a more intense fight than usual, all hands on deck. 

Luckily, the fish-like alien creatures hadn’t been very bright. 

They went down in heaps under the Hulk's fists. 

After finds Bucky helping the local fire department clear rubble in front of their station.

Steve saunters up, holstering the shield. 

He’s got the helmet off, dirt all over his face. 

“Need any help?” 

The air between them is charged. 

Bucky hasn’t been...avoiding him per se. 

Just maybe hoping a degree of separation would slow the diseases progress.

Now though, it's like gravity and he can’t help it, swaying towards Steve to bump their shoulders together.

“Sure,” 

They smile at each other, easy as anything.

Together, they work to clear the rubble in silence. 

Bucky’s caught up thinking about how good they work together, how good they’ve always worked together. 

The fit blindsides him completely. 

It’s gotten harder and harder on his body, and this time it must be just too much because he loses consciousness for a moment. 

When he comes to again, Steve’s eyes are wide and haunted over him. 

Bucky feels sluggish, sore.

He can’t seem to take a full breath, and it’s terrifying. 

Steve helps him sit up after a moment, and Bucky stares dumbly at the flowers he’s clutching in his hands. 

There are petals clinging to his pants where his legs are spread out in front of him. 

Then there are the flowers, so small and delicate. 

Whole. 

Bucky swallows hard, his throat raw. 

He can’t meet Steve’s eyes. 

The blond tries to grab him when he gets up, but Bucky shakes him off. 

Bucky can’t. 

He can’t handle the sympathy. 

The pity. 

He knows it won’t be the end of it, though.

*

He’s proven right when he’s shoved bodily into a conference room by Natasha and Clint after everyone has changed out of their gear. 

The rest of the Avengers, minus a recovering Bruce, are seated grimly around the table, waiting. 

He sits in the one chair left, Natasha crossing her arms by the door with Clint. 

Bucky scans the table. 

The faces of his teammates look scared, and he takes a moment to appreciate that they care. 

Then he locks eyes with Steve. 

He looks like how Bucky feels, dark circles making hollows beneath his eyes, face pale and drawn. 

“So,” Tony starts because of course he breaks the silence, “When were you going to tell us that you were dying?” 

Steve flinches like someone’s hit him. 

Bucky frowns, glaring at Tony who merely shrugs.

He knows he’s right. 

“Okay, I’m dying. And?” 

Multiple people have objections to that, and it takes a moment for the room to quiet down enough for Sam to speak up.

“And? That’s bullshit.” He looks entirely unimpressed with Bucky’s life choices, “There has to be something we can do here.” 

Bucky spreads his hands, “I’m sorry Sam. I’m out of options.” 

“Yeah, out of _Earthly_ options,” Clint interjects, “Thor, you guys gotta have something going on that can help.” 

Thor sits back in his chair, regarding them all. A look of sorrow crosses over him, and he addresses Bucky evenly, “Asgardians do not show the symptoms of this illness the same way you do. Our treatments would simply prolong your suffering, if they did not kill you.” 

Bucky nods at him, he’d had a feeling that even the God of Thunder couldn’t help him.

“Listen, I appreciate the concern, but I’ve made my peace with it.” Bucky frowns, “This is just the way things are.”

The table makes a horrible groaning noise under Steve’s hands. 

All eyes turn to their Captain. 

“There has to be something else we can do.” Steve’s voice is soft, but strangled.

No one volunteers any ideas.

They know, or have been told, what the options for Hanahaki are. 

They know that if it’s gotten this far, there’s not much they can do.

He appreciates their attempt, regardless.

Bucky puts on his best smile, the one he’d use when they were kids and he was trying to talk Steve into going dancing, “It’s ok, Steve. Really I-”

Bucky never gets to finish, Steve smacks his palms on the table, upending his chair as he stands, “No Buck, It’s not fucking ok! If you won’t tell her, then why the hell won’t you consider the surgery?” Steve looks furious, but Bucky knows what desperation sounds like on him. 

Looking at Steve, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, Bucky is even more sure that it’s not an option.

Was never an option. 

The rest of the team seems to be holding their breath, but Bucky ignores them, eyes only for Steve, “I’m sorry. I just….I can’t. I can’t lose anything else.”

Something shutters in Steve’s face, and he storms out of the room. 

It serves as a signal that the impromptu intervention is over, and the rest of the Avengers file out. 

As they go he gets pats on the shoulder, sympathetic words, apologies. 

The only person who stays is Natasha. 

“James.” Is all she says, and he just starts shaking his head. 

“I know, Natasha, I know.” He watches emotions flit across her face.

“No,” She starts, voice soft and deadly, “ _Do_ you know? Do you honestly know what this will do to you?”

He can’t help rolling his eyes, “Yes Natasha, I know that I’m going to cough up flowers until it kills me.” 

She stands in front of him, disapproval heavy in the set of her shoulders. 

“Then do something about it Barnes, _tell him_ or have the damn surgery!” 

Bucky narrows his eyes at her. 

He doesn’t bother to correct her, she knows who it is, but it doesn’t change anything, “Did you forget the part where if I tell him and he doesn’t feel the same way it kills me anyway?” Natasha huffs but Bucky keeps going, voice rising, “He’s happy, Natasha. He’s finally goddamn happy, and I’m not going to fucking take that from him, okay? If he doesn’t feel the same way do you have any idea what it would do to him to watch me fucking _die_ over it?” 

Bucky takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry, Natasha, there’s nothing I can do.” 

Natasha just stares at him, looking for all intents and purposes like she could be made of stone.

“Whether you tell him or not, it’s going to tear him apart to watch you die like this. The least you could is be honest with him.” 

Natasha’s exit is much more graceful than Steve’s had been, but it makes Bucky feel just as empty. 

*

It seems one flower was the signal for the floodgates opening, and almost overnight Bucky gets drastically worse. 

The next day he can barely leave his bed, his body weak from the constant coughing. 

There’s a trail of tiny blue flowers from his bed to his living room, no energy to pick them up. 

“Jarvis,” He rasps, throat scraped bloody, “How’s it looking?”

There’s a hum as Jarvis scans him. 

Instead of an answer the AI projects a timer onto the coffee table. 

24 hours stares back at him. 

He nods, and the numbers vanish.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Sergeant Barnes?”

He shakes his head, pulling the blankets tighter around himself and settling in.

 

*  
Twenty hours in, the lock on his floor is forcibly overridden. 

Jarvis informs him that it happens, but Bucky doesn’t really have the energy to fight it. 

He’s spread out on his couch, breathing shallow and difficult. 

It’s gotten a little harder to think straight, as time has worn on. 

When Steve comes into view, Bucky thinks he’s dreaming. 

All he’s wanted since he saw the numbers was Steve to be there. 

To help him feel a little less scared. 

Right now he can’t remember why he wouldn’t call him, and smiles automatically. 

“Steve,” It comes out as a sigh. 

When Steve comes over to kneel by the couch, Bucky grips his hand weakly, unbelievably happy that he’s there. 

Bucky closes his eyes, feeling peaceful. 

Steve’s other hand cradles the side of his face, and if the ache in his chest didn’t hurt so bad, he’d nuzzle into it. 

“Bucky...I need you to stay awake. C’mon Buck…” Steve shakes him gently as he talks and Bucky scrunches up his face, feeling petulant. 

“M’awake Stevie. What is it?” 

When Steve laughs it sounds wet, and Bucky opens his eyes, alarmed. 

Steve’s face is red and blotchy, a few tears slip down his face. 

Oh. 

Bucky remembers, suddenly, why he hadn’t wanted to call Steve. 

He hadn’t wanted Steve to see him die again. 

“Bucky, you have to tell her. You have to. If she doesn’t feel the same way, she’s…she’s an idiot.” Steve’s pleading, and it fractures Bucky’s resolve. 

“Can’t, Steve.” He starts, but gets interrupted.

Flowers slip through his fingers as he tries to cover his mouth with his free hand. 

The blue of the petals is almost unrecognizable, covered in red. 

Steve’s grip on his hand tightens, bordering on pain, “Please...Buck. I can’t do this again. I can’t…” He trails off shaking his head, “If you won’t tell her, the surgery might not take anything away. We don’t know how the serum will affect it.”

Bucky’s shaking his head, “Can’t risk it.”

The noise Steve makes is somewhere between agonized and frustrated. 

Bucky looks at the blood splattering his fingers, at the tears on Steve’s face. 

Natasha’s voice echoes through his skull and he closes his eyes again. 

“It’s you. It’s always been you.” 

Steve lets go of his hand.

There’s a horrible moment where Bucky feels like ice water has filled his veins, a sickening sense of free fall. 

Only for a moment, and then Steve’s gripping the front of his shirt, forcing Bucky to open his eyes and face the music. 

“You are such an _idiot_.” The smile on Steve’s face is still a little watery. 

Bucky frowns, “I know you probably don’t-”

Steve interrupts, rolling his eyes, “I love you,” 

It throws Bucky for a loop, and he can only reply, “I love you too, punk,” confused at the intensity on Steve’s face. 

He doesn’t get a chance to make a fool of himself, asking how exactly Steve loves him. 

The answers pretty obvious when Steve leans in and kisses him.

*

It would shock the general public if they knew how cuddly Natasha Romanov really was. 

To be fair, it would probably shock most of the Avengers. 

Bucky knows he’s privileged to experience it, and doesn’t take it for granted. 

The redhead has her legs thrown over his. 

Her fingers resting lightly on the back of his hand. 

Touch, for both of them, is complicated. 

Layered in tragedy. 

Part of that tragedy brought them together, and gave them a past that’s hard to talk about but cherished. 

Their teammates had been morbidly curious at first, when Bucky had first come home from being on the run.

Natasha had defended him viciously, and been the only one besides Steve who hadn’t flinched when he’d broken apart.

It had taken Bucky getting his memories back to set more than a few people straight. 

They loved each other, but it’s never been romantic. 

Bucky catches the knife Natasha throws at his head, raising an eyebrow. 

“Pay attention, the episodes almost over,” She grouses at him. 

He nods, stifling a laugh. 

They took trashy soap operas very seriously, apparently. 

While they watch, Natasha grills him about his weekly check-up with Bruce. 

He assures her that he’s fine, not a flower in sight. 

Natasha manages to be very smug while congratulating him. 

He doesn’t mind. 

The comfortable evening is disturbed when Clint falls out of the ceiling vent. 

He brushes himself off casually, grinning toothily at Natasha. 

She rolls her eyes, but Bucky can see that she’s fond. 

“Can I have my girlfriend back? Please?” Clint pouts in Bucky’s direction. 

Bucky pretends to think about it, before lifting up Natasha's legs gently and standing.

“I guess, but I can’t pretend I don’t feel left out,” He puts a hand to his chest, as if wounded.

Clint ignores him entirely to steal his spot on the couch, Natasha tucks herself into his side. 

Arms wrap around Bucky from behind, and he tenses for a moment before realizing who it is.

“Don’t worry, I got you.” Steve’s voice is warm in his ear, and Bucky can’t help grinning stupidly. 

Natasha flicks her hand dismissively at them, eyes only for Clint, “Go, be disgusting somewhere else.” 

Bucky grabs one of Steve’s hands, leading him out of the room with a wave, “So, what were you and Clint up to?” 

Steve shrugs, “The usual.” He presses the button for the ground floor once they’re in the elevator, “Scott called me for help, said that Clint and Tony were trying to eat him. I didn’t really ask anymore questions.” 

Bucky laughs at how scrunched up Steve’s face is, “Now that you’ve saved the day, where are we going?”

Steve blushes a little, “It’s a surprise.”

The elevator dings, and Steve takes the lead, pulling him through the lobby. 

*

They end up driving out of town, to a secluded spot they’d found months ago. 

Bucky admits that he is pleasantly surprised. 

The city could be a lot sometimes. 

The trees are a riot of fall colors, yellows and oranges. 

They spread out a blanket by the lake, watching the waves. 

Bucky lays back, watching the trees sway.

Steve does the same, and reaches out, winding their hands together.

The breeze is warm, and Bucky closes his eyes. 

Happy, safe, loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the scientific name of Forget-Me-Nots, the little blue flowers. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _(Also, this is the ending they deserved)_


End file.
